


I'll Be Your Lifeline Tonight

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 14:57:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18606844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: Dean shoulders his own burdens. He always has. And truth be told, it comforted you to think he had it under control. Dean’s always been the one with the plan, the one who knew what to do next. Now that he doesn’t… you can’t lie, it freaks you out. But you have to help him right now. If the tables were turned, he’d do the same for you.





	I'll Be Your Lifeline Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> This was a drabble request on Tumblr. The prompt I used is in bold. Feel free to send me your requests at my writing blog! @sunlightdances on Tumblr.

The two of you are quiet as you tug Dean by the hand towards the kitchen. A glance up at him shows his jaw clenching, and the circles under his eyes seem to be growing darker by the minute.

“It’s the middle of the night.” His voice is rough with exhaustion.

“Like you were sleeping, anyway.” You say, trying not to get short with him. That’s the opposite of what you want to do right now.

He huffs, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he twists his fingers so they intertwine with yours more snugly, and you bite back a smile. He tries so hard to be emotionless, especially right now, but there’s still part of him that craves a connection. 

“Sit,” you say when you get to the kitchen, gently pushing him towards a chair. “I’ll make tea. Should help you sleep.” 

He opens his mouth to protest, but stops, shaking his head with a small smile on his face. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

While the water is boiling, you lean against the counter, turning to face him. He’s got his chin resting in his palm, his green eyes intense on you. You raise an eyebrow questioningly. 

“Just thinking about you.” He says softly. This is a side of him that you don’t see often, and no one else ever does. 

You walk over to him and let him lean against you, his forehead pressed to your stomach. Your hands instinctively go to his hair, scratching his scalp lightly as his own arms wrap around your thighs, keeping you close. 

He sighs, the action warming the front of your shirt where he’s pressed up against you, and you’re embarrassed to realize tears are welling up in your eyes. You’re just– he’s clearly  _going through it_ , and you can’t do anything to help him. Mostly because he won’t let you. 

“You have to get some sleep,” you say quietly, your voice thick. He hears it, because of course he does (you’ve never been able to hide yourself from him, and it’s both a blessing and a curse - he sees right through you, but hides so much of himself from you). He pulls away, brow furrowing.

“Honey–”

“I mean it, Dean. If you’re not going to talk to anyone about what you’re going through, you have to at least try to take care of yourself.” 

His brow furrows, and he opens his mouth, but you don’t let him respond.

“And I swear, if you say you’re  _fine_ –” 

“I wasn’t going to say that. I’m managing…” 

“Dean.” You meet his eyes. “You’re really not. You don’t– you don’t have to pretend with me. You know that.  **You shouldn’t have to drown all by yourself.** ” 

Dean shoulders his own burdens. He always has. And truth be told, it comforted you to think he had it under control. Dean’s always been the one with the plan, the one who knew what to do next. Now that he doesn’t… you can’t lie, it freaks you out. But you have to help him right now. If the tables were turned, he’d do the same for you. 

He doesn’t like to ask for help. He doesn’t like to admit he’s struggling. But you can only imagine what it’s like… having Michael pounding away at the door in his head, day and night. His mind is already fighting a battle every minute of every day, and now he’s not sleeping or eating right. It’s only a matter of time before he hits a brick wall. 

“Just let me help you. However I can. Even something as small as this.” You say, moving away from him to pour the hot water into two mugs. 

You can feel him watching you. You wish he’d stop. Because you don’t have the answers. You don’t know what to say to help him. 

“C’mere,” He murmurs, his voice closer than you expected, and you jump when you realize that he’s only a few steps away. 

You leave the mugs on the counter and turn around, gnawing on your bottom lip. He crowds you a bit, arms sliding around your waist easily. He’s warm, and you fight the urge to lose yourself in how he makes you feel. “I don’t deserve you.” He whispers. Your eyes, blazing, meet his, but he shakes his head. “Hang on. I just mean that I’m… really goddamned lucky. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I really mean that, kid.” He swallows hard. “I know this isn’t easy. I’m sorry I’m not…” He shakes his head. “If I open up that part of me, I don’t know what’ll happen, and I can’t let anything happen to you.” 

You lean up and kiss him before he can say anything else. He kisses you back, fierce, full of feeling. “I can’t let anything happen to you either, Dean. This is a two-way street.” 

He grins down at you, still smug about having a few inches on you. “I never stood a chance against you, did I?” 

You snort. “Hardly. I’m irresistible, thank you very much.” 

He chuckles. “Trust me, I know.” 

The two of you take your tea back to Dean’s bedroom, you propped up against his chest as you read and he flicks through TV channels. Eventually he sets his mug down on the nightstand, and you feel the way his breath gets heavier as he finally falls asleep. 


End file.
